


blossoming into life

by winterquinnox



Category: The Secret Garden (1993), The Secret Garden - All Media Types, The Secret Garden - Frances Hodgson Burnett
Genre: Childhood friends to more, F/M, Fluff, Future Fic, Growing Up, Transitional moment, product of their time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:55:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27961121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterquinnox/pseuds/winterquinnox
Summary: Their secret garden never changes but they do.
Relationships: Mary Lennox/Dickon Sowerby
Comments: 3
Kudos: 18





	blossoming into life

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Can you believe I only just entered the universe of the secret garden recently? After watching the film from 1993 I obviously was struck by a plot bunny - it’s one of the purest and sweetest and I just had to write something. I imagined their relationship might have swayed back and forth like it does in this piece.

It’s not what she says but how she says it, and her skirts ruffle against the bark of trees and plants below, and she skips girlishly carelessly throughout their formative years until she reaches a stage she shyly moved through the gardens, glancing at him and his work and carefully asking him what he was doing this time.

He admired her like she wasn’t of this world, her plump voluptuous lips, those challenging yet sweet eyes and the delicate way she carried herself. As children they were rambunctious, keen to get their hands dirty and seen as improper because they didn’t mind peeling away layers when summer was too warm, their innocence today was different. She had spent time away being educated and was too much of a lady to get her hands messed up. He imagined them still soft and not calloused like his always had been. He felt it through the sheen of her white glove, just a tempting touch, and she worked tirelessly to hide the deep crimson colour shading her cheeks. 

That was when she was fresh out of finishing school, but as time marched on, she often huffed with frustration and ran through the gardens to see him. “It is so confining! I am too wild of nature to act as expected.” She removed her hat, allowing the sun to gleam through her hair, it was already golden and highlighted from years of being here at Misselthwaite yet had darkened with age when she wasn’t. He was sure she was short of twenty, maybe twenty one, he was a couple of years ahead. He ploughed through weeds, keeping on top of their plush serenity. He turned to look at her, he didn’t say much because of her properness, and he so much like a commoner, he was all too aware of his Yorkshire accent, being self conscious when she was in his presence was new to him. He never cared about any of that in their youth, but how she behaved and presented herself now forced him to keep quiet.

“Dickon,” she requested. 

“Miss Mary..” He began, she had hiked her skirts up and climbed a few branches of a nearby tree, “Get d’own or I might ave to catch you, ‘an how might that look?”

Mary’s smile grew into almost a giggle, “Oh Dickon, it might look romantic.” 

Something dragged him to her so she was in level with him, his heart twinged there, he loved her more than he could ever express, and she was his.  
“I won’t ever let ye fall.” She met his eyes, so blue cerulean, they held her gaze, it was only them and the balmy spring air caressing their already warming up bodies.

Mary was only teasing him, she enjoyed pushing the boundaries and he knew this of her since they met, her arms now held herself up, and she swayed just a tad, he had his arms securely around her waist then, his nose touching hers. “Ye so stubborn, Miss Mary, I ave to call Martha or will I...”

She surprised him by pressing her lips to his, to think how shy she was before him only a few years ago, she found herself reverting back to the children they were. Dickon groaned, his arms constricting around her waist, returning her kiss, before resting his forehead on hers. Mary let her fingers crunch through his curly hair, he was delectable, and had grown so tall, and even more handsome than she dreamed. And such a gentleman, no, an Angel sent to her, nothing like the suitors she had been introduced in the last month. How lucky she was to have him to herself. 

“Miss Mary,” he tried again, his voice careful and chuckling through each syllable, tinkling in the Yorkshire sunset. “Ye’r impossible. So delectable.”

“Why Dickon, that is what I was thinking too.” 

He steadied themselves so that if she did fall she’d land on top of him, and she adored the sun blazed skin he had, how his eyes looked at her with so much yearning and nothing but pride. She felt steady and complete against his broadened chest. His hand met her cheek, stroking her milky cheek, had time stopped or never started, he would never stop loving his girl. She wasn’t promised to another man, nor promised to him, but she secretly was keeping herself for him. She was just waiting....for a signal or something to align. She did not know what. 

Dickon truthfully never felt good enough for her, there was a wide world outside of the secret garden but with all her assets, she was deep down like him. There was nothing in the world she wanted more. 

The blue sash around her white dress and the light brown sun hat she adorned fell to the damp grass, he gathered her in his arms lowering them down as she covered his face in kisses, showing him her thoughts and with it his heart melted and broke all the same. 

“You’ll be reight, Mary,”

“Not without you, Dickon.”

“I ave nout to offer ye,”

“You’ve already given me everything. There is only you, me and the garden.”

He cupped her face, their breaths escalating through their kiss, it was overwhelming and searing. Their bodies were vibrating with tension and through her corset, she was wild but not wild like _that,_ if she didn’t stop here she didn’t know how far she might, she laughed, “nature is living and breathing, and it’s _here._ ”

“Tis indeed, Miss Mary.”


End file.
